


but surely, sheriff, don’t you see; that you can’t take the sky from me?

by ginnystar (ginny_star)



Category: Firefly, Robin Hood (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Gen, Gorram Outlaws, IN SPACE!, a bit dark a bit light a bit wrong a lot right, converging canons, firefly backstory, outlaws in space, sherwood is a ship, space outlaws
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-09
Updated: 2012-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-30 21:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginny_star/pseuds/ginnystar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a hard life, stealing from the rich to give to the poor out in the big black 'verse. But hey, someone's got to do it, it might as well be the notorious outlaws on board <i>Sherwood</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but surely, sheriff, don’t you see; that you can’t take the sky from me?

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a vague idea floated in my head for a RHBigBang challenge a few years back, abandoned when I had no idea how to go about it, this fic has finally come into fruition when roh_wyn gently reminded me of it on Twitter. The reminder, along with a plot that finally worked, has resulted in the first fic I've written in years. So, here's to you, Roh! Without your prodding, I don't think this would have ever been finished.
> 
> Warnings for Chinese swearing and for mentions of underaged prostitution.

***

Regular folks, they think they know the real story. 

The Battle of Serenity Valley, the last great push, thousands of _gorram_ lives lost, buried under rubble and unforgiving dirt. The accolades and prestige wrought upon those Alliance officers that kept the Independents from their victory. The Unification war, _finally_ over, the long and bloody fight finished in one last swoop, painted a glorious red across a sweeping landscape of broken souls. The Valley where the war was won, where the Browncoats, if not yet _completely_ brought under heel, were forced to make peace with their lot. 

Regular Core folks, they think they know the real story.

Regular Core folks, thinks Allan A Dale, _shén me dōu bù zhīdào_ 1.

***

The first rule a child learns on the streets of any Rim planet is a simple one - _trust no-one_. It's a lesson learnt with the back of the meat-seller's hand, the one fact of life that sticks with you with the leer of the man in the alleyway, the single most important thing you'll ever need to survive if you want to ever see another sunrise. But sometimes, it's hard to remember why that's so important. When you're hard up for food, your belly the size of a grain of rice and you haven't seen the right side of a house in weeks (maybe _months_ , who knows), you ignore this utterly fundamental rule of life. Some stupid kid, cocky and at an age where he should really know better, he'll make a choice between stepping away from the table of grey-suited men, or he'll sit down and have the first decent meal he can ever remember having. This is where Allan learns the second rule of the game of life.

You _never_ trust the Alliance.

***

Years later, upon waking to the mid-afternoon sun, Allan immediately knows that something is wrong. The door is slightly ajar. There is a distinct odour of ship grease and the harsh smell of the great unwashed that he knows doesn't belong (at least, in his room it doesn't). Sounds of terse, staccato commands drift up from the welcoming area downstairs. And there are two men that he knows have _not_ paid their way into this humble house of carnal delights crouched by the door in his room, one of whom places a finger upon his lips tersely as he notices Allan's awakening.

This is it, of course. Allan is many things, a _whore_ , a con, a trickster, a gambler, a light-fingered _xiǎo zéi_ 2, a gutter-rat, but he isn't stupid. He's heard of Robin Hood and his ship, the Sherwood, and he knows it promises the one thing he has been dreaming of for over fourteen years. Escape. _Freedom_. So he doesn't shout. He doesn't yell, even as the harried footsteps and angry shouting moves ever closer as they search from room to room for the famed turncoat Robin Hood and his accomplice Much Miller. 

He _moans_. The well practised, breathy sounds of a few credits well spent, of a satisfying night - and despite the ever increasing horror on the face of the stockier man, Much, it does the trick. It _is_ a whorehouse after all (and not being funny, but it is only a suspicious whore’s room if there isn’t sexing to be had).

A few days later, Allan sneaks on board the _Sherwood_ , and makes his presence known to the crew only when they are too far out from Nettlestone to turn back.

***

Allan has not been on board many ships in his life (alright, perhaps never), but even _he_ knows that _Sherwood_ appears to stay upright in the black - just about - by the skin of her teeth. She's a flamin' piece of _gǒu shĭ_ 3, he thinks, and he is convinced that the first Alliance cruiser that comes across them will have them bent over a _gorram_ table before the stars have stopped spinning in front of their eyes. Their first encounter with the law-abiding folks, he has to take it all back though – he doesn't expect her to fly quick and true, doesn't realise that he has underestimated Much's skill as a pilot as they dive through the asteroid belt (the forest in which they conceal themselves), and they have left their pursuers far behind. There is a reason, Will Scarlett mutters to him when there is finally a moment to breathe, as to why Much was also considered a hero in his own right alongside Robin during the days of the war - that the uptight and frankly _annoying_ first officer is also the finest damned pilot ever seen on this side of the 'verse.

He wonders, at first, why someone with as much smarts as Robin has, who had all the glory and riches and all the ships he could have wanted at his fingertips would have settled for... well, _this_. A ratty tin-can of a ship, cannibalised from Alliance and standard ship parts alike, _Sherwood_ has neither sleek sophisticated greys, nor the muted colours of ships Allan has seen on the wire. Half the time he isn’t sure they won't drift in space forever, until some unsuspecting planet gets in their way. The heating is temperamental at best, reluctant to start, and difficult to control once going. There are nooks and crannies where there ought _not_ to be, and buttons that he fights the urge to push - if only because John Little always appears at the wrong time to ward off temptation. 

And yet. She blends into the forest of asteroids, remains unseen from the ever-dogged purple-bellies and bounty hunters on the lookout for the famous outlaw turncoats and their gang, and is surprisingly nimble and strong in a fight. _Sherwood_ is a ship like no other, and the only home the others know. 

It takes Allan months, but soon she feels a little like _home_ to him too.

***

It isn’t just the way Much flies her either - Will, despite his youth, seems to be able to read the thoughts and feelings of _Sherwood_ long before even Robin is aware of them. He keeps the ship aloft and content, sometimes spending more than half the day in the engine room elbow deep in grease and oil. He ignores Allan as he talks (and yeah alright, _talks_ ) content to allow him to ramble as long as he doesn’t get in the way, making small adjustments that only he and the ship notice. Allan doesn't mind that he never replies, he knows he talks enough for the both of them. Will speaks eventually, a slow build up of short answers to quiet sentences and stories as Allan makes himself a part of the crew.

He learns the young mechanic was _gorram_ green before stepping foot on _Sherwood_ , though not as green as Allan has presumed him to be – and that he is no wide-eyed adventurer. His past is filled with the same gnawing hunger Allan remembers too well, with a mother that sacrificed her own life for her sons, and a father that stood up for what he believed in – at a price. 

He follows the man they call their captain, their once-Alliance war hero because he believes in the same ideals, in equality for their people and in bringing down justice upon those that have wronged. It is through the mechanic's eyes that Allan sees a method to their madness rather than a means to an end. 

Will is no innocent anymore, but there is still something in his eyes that Allan never recalls seeing in the mirror himself, a belief in _right_ and _wrong_ , and the determination to never stray from that path. He'd never admit it, not out loud, but he is a little in awe of this man, so quiet but so full of justice. In awe, and more than a little turned on.

***

They meet Djaq, the would-have-been slave from the Outremer system with the most beautiful accent Allan has ever heard (and who has a penchant for coming up with the most foul and inventive insults Allan has come across from anyone other than Matilda) when they stumble across a slave-ship bound for the further Rim planets.

They play the big damn heroes once again, and accept another fellow outlaw into their midst, one who can patch the crew up as well as he can aim a gun – and that’s saying something because Djaq’s aim is true and deadly.

It’s not until Will comes stumbling into the dining room, wide-eyed and _blushing_ right up to tip of his ears that they realise their quick-witted, nimble-fingered new crewmember is actually a _she_.

Her name is Saffiyah, she admits with a little reluctance, or that rather, it _was_ , once upon a time. When her brother had lived. When in place of war and battle and fear, there had been learning, science and laughter. When there had been a soldier-brother and a sister and that now she upheld her brother’s honour and her own pride in bearing the name of Djaq. She holds her head up high, challenging, _daring_ them to say otherwise. She makes herself a part of the motley gang, claims the infirmary as her own with little fuss from Robin and has Will wrapped around her pinky finger – even if she herself is unaware of it.

Allan thinks he is a little bit in love with her already.

***

Months pass by in this fashion, robbing the bastard rich to give to the needy poor, and there is something almost soothing about the repetition in their lives – even if half the time they can barely afford to keep themselves fed and the ship running, and Djaq gripes that the next someone gets shot, she will leave them to rot on the operating table because there will be nothing that she can do to stop anyone from dying _with duct tape and used needles_ , and Much kicks Robin out of their quarters for giving away the last of their protein bars on Clun because _wǒ de tiān ā 4, Robin, we can’t help them if **we’re** passed out from hunger_ and John has no say on the matter – none that he will voice with anyone but Robin, anyway.

They limp from one planet to another pulling off ever-increasingly dangerous stunts to taunt the Alliance, and with an officer ever constantly snapping at their feet (a one Lieutenant Gisborne seemingly permanently assigned to this thankless job, suffering humiliation after humiliation – yet that _húndàn_ 5 is doggedly persistent), but there is something dangerous in their captain’s eyes, something that burns with deadly intent, and so Allan keeps his grumblings to a dull roar.

Months pass by in this way with little change, so Allan is deeply surprised when he finds Robin conducting a call from the console at the bridge one day with the Night Watchman (one of the heroes of the Independents, loved by many women, adored by many children). The Night Watchman who turns out to be the beautiful _Lady_ Marian Knighton of Nottingham, infamous politician and outspoken Alliance member.

***

Things quieten down for a while from the Alliance after Robin contacts Marian for a few favours, his inside man not being quite the _man_ that Allan had assumed (and doesn’t Djaq go on quite the tirade after she realises he’s failed to mention this – _it’s because we are women isn’t it, you men are all the same_ ), and though he is glad of the respite, he knows it’s just exactly that, an unnerving calm before the storm.

They continue to make their way through the Rim planets, offering their services to those can afford it (and many who can’t) and helping the downtrodden with what they have on hand. There are few opportunities for honest jobs, so when they are offered a job to help a few towns transport their goods on Locksley, they jump at the chance to earn a full belly – all but Robin, who keeps himself ensconced in the cockpit, deep in another one of his mysterious calls with the surprisingly snarky Lady Marian. 

All but Robin, their captain and leader, who has lately been looking as if the weight of the entire ‘verse is on his shoulders, as if something, _somewhere_ , is finally catching up with him, as if he can no longer outrun the demons at his heels. 

Allan finds out the full story despite the captain’s obvious desire to bury it within his soul as far down as it will go, despite John’s warning him that he ought not go meddling with things that don’t concern him (this coming from a once-shepherd who now shoots to kill with an ancient pistol he calls _Royston_ , for crying out loud), despite it all, because he can tell that though Much wants to keep Robin’s secrets, he is _desperate_ to stop the man from killing himself with it all.

***

Anyone with access to the wire knows the basics of the story, of the fine and illustrious career of Robin Hood, Captain of the 92nd Crusaders Brigade, which faltered and died after his striking victory in the Battle of Serenity Valley. How the man, once a firm believer in the Alliance and a mindless military dog, then very publically turned on everyone on Nottingham, had spoken out against those on Persephone, on Osiris, on all Allied planets and had broken off his engagement to a devastated Lady Marian. Branded a turncoat by the media and stripped of his military accomplishments, Robin had fled from the Core and had eventually resurfaced two years later, on a mission of redemption.

Most Rim planets have their stories, of the purple-bellied Alliance _gǒu_ 6 that realise the true colours of its master and break free, of the soldier that saw more horrors than a man should see in ten lifetimes. That the man beneath the monster wanted – _needed_ to atone for his sins. The modern-'verse anti-hero, giving largess to those cowed, brown-coated individuals, letting their tears of gratitude wash the blood from his hands. Stories of hated men; yet needed for all that they were spat on.

But it’s not the full story, Allan learns. It’s not the full story, Much says darkly, in a shadowy corner of a cramped and noisy bar, and the Alliance have done their best to bury the truth as far as it can _gorram_ go. 

There is a pause, in which Much looks every inch the weary soldier he truly is, the broken soul who has seen and dealt more death than should be right. There is a pause, where he drinks deeply from his mug, sets it down, and looks them all in the eyes, and a chill runs down Allan’s spine when he asks them what they know of a place called the Academy.

***

It all spills out then, the political ties Robin had held, the fiancé of a leading Alliance leader, the noble, almost self-sacrificing actions given to protect Commander Richard Prince on a battlefield. Their growing friendship, the introduction of his brother, John Prince and his wonderful institution dedicated to the moulding of young minds and of paving the way for a better, brighter and stronger future. The Alliance-financed Academy, where only the brightest and best of the brightest and best were accepted, the prestige and envy heaped upon the families of those that called themselves its pupils, the hallowed halls and beautiful grounds that sprawl across acres and acres of green land.

The discovery of a hideous secret, the accidental eavesdropping of a hushed meeting between John Prince and of black-suited men with faces as blank and impassive as statues, of nasty words like _experiments_ , _reader_ , _not good enough_ , and _try harder to break her_. The almost-impossible dinner after that, where Robin and Much acted as though nothing had changed, as if they had heard nothing at all about crazy experiments and the torture of children, as if deciding whether to have the veal or the lamb was the most important thing right at that moment, as if their true belief in the Alliance hadn’t just been shattered and their hearts and faith weren't bruised and bleeding.

What do you know of the Academy, Much had asked them, and Allan (and Will, Djaq and John) had truthfully answered they knew very little.

And _lǎo tiān yé_ 7, Allan really _really_ wishes it had remained that way.

***

Find Carter, Marian suggests when things seem hopeless and Robin outright refuses to take Badger up on his offer of help.

We don’t deal with criminals, Robin insists as he ignores another oily offer of aid, goods and badly needed forgeries from Badger, as if they themselves weren’t prone to stealing and thieving – even if it was to help the helpless and all that.

_Find Carter_. As if the man in question doesn’t somehow manage, to the wounded pride of Much and Will, find _them_.

***

They spend months going in circles, following connections to the Academy that all invariably stop at dead-ends. They are almost ready to give up this crusade of Robin’s, almost ready to lay down their weapons, when things begin to make sense, when one word connects to the other, and soon enough they have a name, an address in an impossibly upscale part of Osiris, of steadfastly loyal and loving brothers and sisters and yes, the enticement of more money than they can possibly imagine.

Allan is returning back from the first meeting with the man in a bar in a blackout zone (where he had slid a datachip across the table with just enough information for the man to find them if he was smart and desperate enough), when suddenly a soldier, who has been following him since leaving the establishment – he is sure of it, shoves him into an alleyway.

Suddenly, he is young, is _stupid_ again, he has gambled his way into indentured servitude, into years and years of whoring, he is stupid, _stupid_ to have trusted anyone but himself and _this is it_ , this is it until suddenly, it’s not, not yet and not for a few years because one of the men argues that he will earn more if he learns a few tricks first and that evening as he haltingly (and with no amount of self-loathing) thanks his unexpected saviour, the man tells him that he owes him one now, that sooner or later in his life, _he will come to collect_.

And he has, the soldier in front of him with the same calculating eyes, who bears the badge of the Alliance with pride over a heart as cold as the black, whose eyes light up with recognition and reminds him of a long forgotten night where Allan was reprieved of the ways of the world. He’s come to collect.

***

It’s a crazy, outlandish idea, and it’s precisely because it’s a crazy, outlandish idea that Robin comes up with it, and Much rants and raves that they’ll all be shot within five minutes and it’s utter madness to allow Djaq be in so much danger – to which Djaq promptly retorts that unless _he_ can convincingly disguise himself as the _woman_ on the identification badge that Carter manages to filch from the flirtatious nurse at the Academy, then it is going to be her or no-one at all.

Allan is distracted, _too_ distracted and he knows it shows in his lack of quips, in the hollow pause where he should have joined in with Djaq’s teasing of Will when she pretends not to notice the effect she has on him in an Academy-standard nurse uniform which hugs her curves, with her own cropped curls hidden beneath a silky wig and he smirks weakly, and suggests that she ought to dress like a girl more often, and she flirts right back – but there’s a question in her eyes that he can't answer and he turns to listen intently to the instructions that Robin relays to John and Much.

He’s done it, after all, made the call, made _several_ calls to the man who dangles his past above his neck like a swinging blade, and it has been less than he has expected he would demand, and somehow more suspicious because of it. A man doesn’t give up a blood-debt for nothing, so Allan knows that the information he passes on, as little and as inconsequential as it seems to him, must mean _something_ , and that it might all come crashing down around him someday soon. 

Just a little information is all he wanted, the man had promised, pointing out that it was a tiny price to pay for allowing a boy to keep his innocence longer than he had any right to, and that he had sworn, had _sworn in blood_ to pay him back, so what’s a little information – almost _negligible_ information – in return for his release from it all?

***

He doesn’t tell Robin, not yet, even though the guilt settles in his stomach like too much of the chalk and soil he used to eat when he was a kid to stop the pain in his belly, because it is more important that they focus on the mission.

And he keeps on telling himself that, even as the days blur into weeks and into months and the calls _keep gorram coming_.

***

Everything goes according to their meticulous plan, and they manage to make a copy of the facility’s blueprints without the Alliance knowing, and it’s all running like clock-work until suddenly, it doesn’t.

Suddenly, there are guards where there shouldn’t have been, there are perfectly executed moves from soldiers where there ought to have been panic and confusion, and there isn’t an exit from this hellhole anymore. There isn’t an exit because Gisborne stands in front of it, triumphant and proud and _of course_ the man from his past had been working for the lieutenant and Sheriff Vaisey of Nottingham and had done so for many years, and wasn’t it a stroke of luck that Allan, of all people, of all the Tom, Dick and Harry’s in the ‘verse, owed the man a blood debt, wasn’t it all just so _fucking great_? And so it comes out, all of it, the secret calls and disappearing acts that had Djaq worried out of her mind and Will fretting and John concerned and the deep, stark, utter betrayal of it all spills out in the corridor, as real as the blood and sin that stains the Academy.

***

There isn’t a chance of escape, and they’re done for – only, they’re not, because Carter sacrifices himself for them, and isn’t that just the kicker, to add to all the guilt of betraying the only family he knows, to have to bear the loss of one of the best men that Allan, the crew, would ever know?

***

It is the waiting that kills him, the not knowing when it will finally come – the accusations and the inevitable second punch (Much having already claimed the honour of having nearly clean knocked his lights out once they had reached the ship), and it finally comes after Carter’s funeral.

He tries to explain, he really does, but it gets lost somewhere between Robin’s cold gaze and the anger and outrage in Much’s voice, and he can’t explain it at all, not when he can’t deny that he had started to get _paid_ for his information by the end, and that if he was honest, the blood debt had all but been square when coin had come into it. 

The money has been paid for with a good man’s life, Robin’s eyes say, and the fury and disappointment in them makes Allan want to crawl out of his own skin, and he almost wants Much to hit him again, just to feel anything other than the shame that threatens to drown him.

Traitors, we do not like, John says, with venom and more than a little hate, and Allan cannot confess his sins to him, not this time, perhaps never, and may God have mercy on his soul for dealing with the Devil. 

It hurts him more than he thought it is possible, to see the way Will stares at him like a stranger, the way Djaq refuses to look at him at all.

***

He is not, as much as their pilot would want it, thrown out of the nearest airlock to float as an object in space for eternity. Their numbers are small, and their chances smaller – especially without Carter, and Marian can only help them so far without showing the Alliance her hand. So Allan endures the mutters, the silences, the hurt with uncharacteristic stoicism, and slips away from their practice runs as soon as he is no longer needed, unable to endure the hate in the eyes of his friends.

He has barely spoken an unnecessary word to anyone in the gang for weeks, but what is there to say really, when _sorry_ isn’t never going to be good enough, and _forgive me_ will probably induce another fist to the face?

***

It’s a good day to die. The day of the final mission, the most crucial part of it all is finally here, and soon there will be little time for words, perhaps no words at all if they’re unfortunate enough.

It’s a good day to die, John repeats, and Allan can almost feel the hand of death that ghosts his shoulder, the unnerving image of his dogtags burning on a funeral fire, but he doesn’t say a thing.

***

They infiltrate the nightmarish hell beneath the Academy, where the smell of hate, of unspeakable horrors lingers and where the scientists discuss the manipulation of the inner workings of humans as easily as Allan could once fuck a paying customer, as easy as _pass the salt, please_ and it’s almost overwhelming, the sheer need to drop to his knees in defeat in the face of _everything_ , to repent for his sins in blood.

For whatever reason that Lady Luck has, they manage to pull it off. They are inches away from escaping and the sirens are blaring and flashing, and they’ve done it once more, thumbed their noses at the Alliance, at Vaisey and his lieutenant dog, Gisborne, at the men in black suits and purple-bellies, just like they always do. 

Then Allan sees him.

There’s a soldier with dead eyes and a stone-cold heart aiming at their captain and Allan moves almost before he has thought about it, and he aims back at the man and squeezes the trigger until he sees his saviour-turned-tormenter slump on the floor because _of course_ it was going to be him that turned the corner, of course he has been shot in the chest because his whole life has been a bucket of _chòu mǎ niào_ 8 from start to end.

Allan collapses against Robin as a fresh wave of agony rolls though him, and he struggles to get the words out, that he is sorry, _duì bù qǐ_ 9, that they’re square now, that it’s been repaid, all of it – but he honestly doesn’t know if he is talking to Robin, or the monster that lies dead in front of him or himself and there is _so much blood_ but none of it matters, because Robin is hissing that he better well not die, that they will forgive anything but that and he wants to reply, he does, he –

***

He comes to in the medical bay, a haggard looking Will slumped over awkwardly in sleep in the corner. A figure moves into view from his left and to his surprise, it is Much who has waited for him to wake and it is Much who passes him a glass of water and tells him that Djaq has spent three days and three nights saving his life and that he better not put any of them through that again. It is Much’s way of giving thanks and forgiveness without saying the words, and Allan can’t help but crack a weak grin and tell him that he’s the most beautiful thing he has ever seen and Much splutters because that’s the way they work.

Djaq comes into the medical bay mere moments later, and throws a fit when she realises Allan has torn stitches from laughing too much, and it’s there, in her eyes and in the way she caresses his cheek, her forgiveness and her apologies and her affection and upon waking, Will simply says that he should have understood, and suddenly they’re all there, and it’s alright, it’s really going to be alright.

***

They drop the man and his luggage off on Persephone, because sometimes the most dangerous place can be the safest place of all, and they’re still scouring the outbound ships from Nottingham, not the docks of Persephone. Not _yet_ anyway.

He offers the crew his thanks, cannot express his gratitude in anything more than the cold hard coin that now lies in the coffers of _Sherwood_ along with the blood money Allan has added, ready to be passed on to those more needy in the ‘verse. No thanks are needed though, as Robin tells the man, as there is already an arrest warrant out for the man, and rewards have been doubled for the capture of _them_ , so the best the man can do is never try to associate the names of their outlaw crew and Simon Tam together – ever. 

There is a quick resupply and refuelling, before they set off to lie low for a while, Haven maybe, or Santo. It is the first time that Allan has been allowed out of the medical bay in days, and he comes into the dining room to cheers and applause, though he doesn’t feel as though he deserves it, not really. For all that they were paid handsomely by the man, for all that the crew of _Sherwood_ have forgiven Allan his betrayal, he knows it will take much, much longer for him to forgive himself.

But the gang are undeterred, and eager to find their way back to an ease and camaraderie that has been lacking on the ship in too long. John smiles as he pours another mug of ‘medicinal’ ale for him, Djaq snickers when Much protests as he passes down plates of protein that Will suggests is shaped (and tastes) more like squirrel than chicken, Robin beams at them all from the head of the table, revelling in the feelings of victory and triumph and for a brief, glorious moment, surrounded by those most near and dear to his heart, Allan’s dark mood clears. 

Because _this_ is where he ought to be, stuck in a ratty, tin-can of a ship with cocky captains, grouchy pilots, silent-but-deadly ex-shepherds, bold-as-brass (and beautiful) doctors and _kĕ ài de_ 10 mechanics, and what he learnt was wrong, years and years ago on Nettlestone in a dirty alleyway with a belly full of chalk and soil. _Trust no-one_ , he’d once been told, hissed in his ear by an older girl-thief before she’d robbed him of his bread. But here, he could do it. He trusts _everyone_ on the _Sherwood_ , and for a single, crystal clear moment, he knows one thing.

It would have been a good day to die, a _wonderful_ day to die but, and Allan isn’t being funny here, it was an even better day to _live_ , and right now it feels as if no power in the ‘verse can stop them. Nothing at all.

  
_fin_   


**Author's Note:**

> 1 - _shén me dōu bù zhīdào_ : know nothing at all, used forcefully enough, _almost_ a ‘they don’t know shit’ – but there really isn’t any profanity there to really mean ‘shit’
> 
> 2 - _xiǎo zéi_ : literally ‘little thief’, thief
> 
> 3 - _gǒu shĭ_ : ... dog shit
> 
> 4 - _wǒ de tiān ā_ : literally ‘my heavens’, heaven’s above!
> 
> 5 - _húndàn_ : bastard
> 
> 6 - _gǒu_ : dog, profanity
> 
> 7 - _lǎo tiān yé_ : literally ‘old man in the sky’, so... God. Sort of. He’s the Emperor that rules the Heavenly Court
> 
> 8 - _chòu mǎ niào_ : stinking horse piss. Yeah, I wasn’t sure about this one myself
> 
> 9 - _duì bù qǐ_ : sorry
> 
> 10 - _kĕ ài de_ : cute, adorable, everything that Will is
> 
> extra notes [here](http://northerngirlchild.tumblr.com/post/54460143107/more-i-dont-know-if-i-managed-it-or-not-but) and [here](http://northerngirlchild.tumblr.com/post/54460229488/more-if-any-of-you-guys-have-read)


End file.
